The reboot, p.15
The Reboot, page 15
“Mom!” Aiden’s face is covered with something messy, but that’s more a state of being for a little boy than anything else, so I don’t comment.
“How has your weekend been so far?”
“Weekend?” Aiden blinks. “Oh. Yeah. It’s hard to know what day it is when there’s no school.”
“Do you miss school?”
He shrugs. “I miss Gabe.”
Close enough. “I saw him a few days ago. He just got some new monster trucks, and he can’t wait to show them to you.”
“Monster trucks?” Aiden’s eyes light up. “That’s so cool. Are they remote controlled?”
I shrug. “Not sure. I bet he can tell you next week.”
“Today we got ice cream,” Aiden says. “And I got to see Peter and Holden.”
“That’s great,” I say, frankly shocked that Charlie was willing to drive that far. They live on the other side of town from his parents. When we lived there, he wouldn’t even ride in the car with me when I went to drop Aiden off at Holden’s house. “Was it fun?”
“So fun,” Aiden says. “And I get to see them tomorrow, too.”
“Why are you getting to go see them so much? Is Dad dropping you off? Is he doing a lot of work?”
“No,” Aiden says. “He stayed and talked to Holden’s dad.”
That’s unlike him, but I force myself to be glad and not suspicious. The more active role he plays in Aiden’s life, the better. Holden’s family is really kind, so hopefully he won’t tick them off or lie to them or cheat them in some way.
I hate that it’s a real possibility, but sadly, it is.
“How’s Mister Will?” Aiden asks.
“He’s great,” I say. “He can’t wait to see you again. He just got a brand new red Camaro, and he said you can help him with the brakes.”
Aiden winces, but I’m not sure why.
“Are you alright, honey?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“Do you have your stuff packed up? Are you ready to come home?”
It’s so small I almost miss it, but he frowns before he looks down at something off screen that I can’t see.
“Aiden?”
He mumbles something I can’t catch. “. . .until. . .Holden. . . maybe.”
“Sweetie, you have to look up and speak loudly or I can’t hear you.”
“I’d rather stay here.” He glances up then, and hurriedly looks back down. “I don’t want to go back to your house.”
The words are like a dagger to my chest. Aiden doesn’t want to come home? He doesn’t want to live with me? “Honey, I think I misheard you. Is there something going on? Did you want to stay with Dad for another day or two? Maybe go to a ball game or something?”
He bites his lip.
“Your son is worried you’ll cry.” Charles’ face looms in front of the screen, far too close and a little distorted. He looks like something out of a Tim Burton cartoon. “He wants to stay here and live with me. Permanently.”
The words are like cannon fire, aimed right at my heart. “Aiden.”
My son looks up then, his eyes wide and weepy. “Don’t be mad, Mom, okay?”
“Do you really want to stay with Dad?”
“I miss my friends here,” he says. “I miss my school, and I like the restaurants. Plus, Grandma and Grandpa are here.”
I can barely breathe.
How stupid have I been? My life isn’t roses and sunshine and butterflies. My life is blow after blow after nasty blow. I should’ve known something like this was coming.
“Aiden, how about you stay another week or two?” My voice is wobbly and unsure. I clear my throat, like maybe that will fix the problem. “You can see Holden and Peter, and you can go to lunch with Grandma and Grandpa, and then you can still come home before school starts.” Why am I speeding up? If I keep going like this, I’ll sound like an auctioneer any minute. “In fact, if you get your school clothes shopping done there, you can even stay for three more weeks.” My voice breaks again at the end, at the thought that he’d rather do that with Charlie.
“Mom.” Aiden’s lip wobbles. “I love you so much. I wish you could just come back out here.”
He’s serious. He doesn’t want to come back home. . .at all.
“Your dad and I need to talk, sweetheart. Can you go watch some television?”
“Okay.” Aiden waves as he walks off.
When Charlie’s face reappears, he looks like he’s just robbed a bank. “You’re always saying that all you care about is what’s best for Aiden, but have you ever really stopped to think about what that is? What he wants?” He’s so smug I can barely stand it. “I trust he was plenty clear.”
“The court makes these decisions,” I say. “Not our seven-year-old. No matter how much ice cream you give him—”
“Is that really what you want?” he asks. “To be the mother who hauls her son back to Hicksville against his will, so he can get a shoddy education and be raised with toothless hillbillies?”
“If you—”
“He’ll hate you for it eventually,” he says. “If you make him come back, he will hate you. And in another few months, I can make a motion for reconsideration, and the Court will ask him his opinion. I’ve had him meeting with a child psychologist, by the way. He agrees that Aiden’s needs would be better met here, by me and my parents. We have the funds to provide for Aiden anything and everything he might need.”
He leans even closer to the screen, so grotesquely close that I can see his nose hairs.
“Even if you drag him back, you’re only delaying the inevitable. He’s my son, a Windsor. And Windsors may fumble a battle now and then, but we never lose the war.”
14
Amanda
For years, the only friends I had fell into two categories: real life or social media.
My Instagram friends were low risk. We were more business companions than actual friends. We networked for each other. We referred business to one another. We jointly promoted items and places, and we helped each other to grow and develop new opportunities. Of course, some of them got me and some didn’t. But by and large, even the annoying ones were considered ‘friends,’ and I could put up with most anything.
Because I never saw them.
My other type of friend in New York were the socialites I knew physically who lived in Manhattan. We bumped into one another at parties, at the PTO, and at restaurants. Sometimes we’d even go out on a date or two before realizing we’d been out with the same guy.
If I’m being honest, they were really all frenemies. I never sat down and had a real or honest conversation with any of them. I spent more time worrying about who wore it better than I did about whether they were doing alright. Actually, when I found out they weren’t doing well, I’d usually either laugh or gloat or both.
Admitting that, even to myself, isn’t easy.
Now that I have real friends, it’s amazing in ways I didn’t predict. I always have someone I can call with issues. They tell me when I’m way off base. They bring casseroles and drink wine and shop and share clothes that don’t quite work.
That’s more my role, but still.
The one downside is that they also call me when they need help.
“Amanda?” Donna sounds practically frantic.
“Yeah?”
“Thank goodness you answered. The last twenty-four hours have been a constant freefall, it feels like.”
“What’s wrong?”
For some reason, that simple question reduces her to tears.
I’m not sure what to say. If we weren’t on the phone, I’d put an arm around her and let her cry. As it is, I just wait, awkwardly, until she pulls it together enough to speak.
“Charles is threatening to take Aiden, and he wants to stay in California.”
“I thought he lived there,” I say.
“No,” she says. “Aiden is saying he wants to stay.”
“Oh no, that’s terrible,” I say. “Summers are the worst.”
“What?”
“This happened with quite a few of my friends’ kids,” I say. “Every year, their dads would spoil them and badmouth their mother the entire time they were there, and then the kid would decide he or she wanted to stay.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m sure that’s what happened. And it’s hard, but try not to worry. The court order says he has to come home, right?”
“But I don’t want him to resent me,” Donna says.
“He’s seven. He’ll resent you for a day or two and then he’ll forget about it halfway through an episode of Ninjago. That’s why courts make those decisions, not elementary school kids who have been plied with ice cream and basketball games.”
Donna doesn’t say a word.
“Hello?”
“I’m here,” she says. “And. . .I hope you’re right. It’s just that, Charles isn’t your average father. He’s more of a diabolical mastermind. He says he’ll sue for custody over and over until he gets it.”
“But you have a secret weapon he doesn’t,” I say.
“What?”
“She wears stilettos and crushes men’s . . .you know. . . with her fist. For fun.”
She laughs. “Abigail. You’re right.”
“Tell me you’ve called her.”
“Not exactly.”
“Donna, I’m great, and I’m always happy to talk to you, but when someone starts threatening legal action, call the terrifying lawyer first.”
“Right, you’re right. And I will call her next, but. . .”
“But? Is there something else?”
Donna clears her throat. “The thing is, my hot water heater also died. And there’s still a leak in that guest bathroom, which is not that big of a deal, but Will hasn’t had time with the calves to look at it and. . .”
“Now Mandy’s dead, you don’t know who to call.” My voice is flatter than I mean for it to be, but I’m a little tired of everyone calling me about this stuff. I got nothing, but people still think I’m made of answers.
“I’m so sorry,” Donna says. “The thing is, I have my rent check, but I’m not sure where to send it, and I thought you—”
“Mandy left me nothing,” I say. “In fact, everything she owns is going to some horrible woman named Lacey. Some kind of third cousin or something. I was actually supposed to be evicted last week, but Abby called the court and they said I don’t need to go until the estate is processed. She’s got her final probate hearing next week or something, I think. For now, I’d say hold onto that rent check. Maybe replace the hot water heater and offset the cost against your rent. But again, I’m not the expert on lease stuff.”
“Abby.”
I grunt. “Yep. I’d call Abby about that, too.” I feel a small twinge of guilt at the idea of piling things on top of Abby. I know she won’t let Donna pay for any of it, and it sounds like the issues with Aiden might be extensive. . . “Look, I have to call Lacey today anyway, so I’ll ask her about what she’s doing with the rental house, okay?”
“Thank you so much.”
“But my guess is that she’s going to sell it like she’s selling everything else. She just wants as much money as she can get for, I don’t know, liposuction and filler, and then she’s out of here.”
“Which means I’m about to get tossed out on my ear.”
“You have a twelve-month lease,” I say. “Again, ask Abby, but I bet she can’t throw you out. She’d have to sell it to someone subject to that lease.”
“Poor Abby,” Donna says.
“It’s her literal job,” I say. “So she has no one to blame but herself for having to slog through all that boring legal stuff.”
“I guess,” Donna says. “Well, thanks.”
“Oh, and by the way.”
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s been a bad few days for you, and I won’t lie and say the last few weeks have been great for any of us. But.” I tap on my phone until I find the photo of Eddy and me. Then I click send.
“Amanda? Are you still there?”
“Check your messages.”
“What’s this?” Donna’s voice ratchets up a notch. “Amanda Brooks, tell me what this is!”
“We got back together.”
And now it’s just screeching and hissing sounds. Old Amanda might have been annoyed, but new Amanda’s beaming. “If only Mandy could see me now,” I whisper. “She’d be screeching and dancing around, too.”
Somehow, it makes it harder, after thinking about Mandy and how pleased she’d be with my decisions right now, to march into the Grill downtown and meet with Lacey Lease. She’s wearing a stunning Altuzarra suit that I’d have said would make anyone look epic.
I was wrong, of course. The clothes don’t make the woman. The woman most definitely ruins the clothes. If I posted that it would most definitely take off on social, not that I want to be known for being catty and hateful. I force myself to think happy thoughts.
Eddy and me sharing a milkshake last night.
Maren showing me her new cheers.
Emery reading me a story she wrote. It had a beginning, a middle, a longer middle, a side plot, an almost-the-end, then back to the middle. Then there was another side plot. And then it meandered. I fell asleep and snapped back awake as it took a sharp turn into fantasy, and then finally, ended. But still, her first story!
The great disaster’s talking, and I realize that I totally zoned out on her. She’s looking up at me, and again, holding out a manila envelope. Is that her job back home? Does she make envelopes?
“—list, and if you could just check over it and make sure everything is on here.”
She wants me to help her with her theft of all Amanda’s stuff.
I sigh.
“I’m not an expert on Amanda Saddler’s property,” I say, realizing as I say it that it’s a lie. Even the ones I wasn’t too familiar with, I now know everything about. I combed through every one of her documents looking for a will that named me before giving up. No one knows her properties like I do.
And I promised Donna I’d advocate for her, so I have to play nice right now. I force myself to sit down and order a coffee. “Black,” I say.
“You usually want cream and sugar—”
I interrupt the waitress, whose name I should remember, but I just can’t today. “Black.”
“That boyfriend of yours is rubbing off on you.” She winks as she departs.
A little warmth creeps down the back of my neck, and I try to remember that my life is blessed. Mandy’s death and even Lacey’s appearance don’t change that. I pick up the list and scan it, figuring I can use this to segue into a question about Donna’s house.
But it’s not on the list.
“What about the little rental house that’s a few months into a one-year lease?” I rattle off the street name. “The tenant was asking me about it today.”
Lacey blinks.
“It’s been recently remodeled,” I say. “Much of the work was done by the tenant’s boyfriend, and the lease terms reflect that.”
Lacey opens her mouth, and then closes it with a click.
“The thing is, she’s having some other issues. The hot water heater died, and there’s a leak.”
“If you mean the three bedroom here. . .” Lacey hands me a sheet of paper with property stats at the top.
I squint, making sure it’s the right one. The photo’s old, but the address and property details are right. “Yes, that’s right.”
“It was transferred by Amanda Saddler about ten days before she died.”
“Transferred?” I don’t understand. “What does that mean?”
Lacey huffs. “Gifted to the tenant.”
“But wouldn’t Donna know if that was the case? She’d have to sign something—”
“Look, all I know is the Court told me they had already given it to the tenant. Ellingson something.”
Mandy gave Donna a house?
I’m really trying to not be selfish. I’m trying to unlock my inner peace, and care about others, and do good things instead of focusing on the bad. But it really stings that I was uninherited, while Donna got a house free and clear, and Abby got an office building and a ranch. I’m left with nothing because I didn’t immediately get back together with Eddy?
What the?
My coffee shows up just in time to stave off my stupid tears. I glance over the list, nod my approval, and then bolt my coffee. It burns my throat, and I don’t even care. “Alright, I gotta jet. Best of luck.” I stand up and grab my purse.
“I have a buyer, you know,” Lacey says.
That stops me in my tracks. “Excuse me?”
“The court said the paperwork will go through in the next two weeks, and you have to be out then. I can’t give you any more extensions. My buyer’s ready to close, with cash, immediately. The second the court approves the inventory.”
Helen.
It has to be Helen.
And I’m just angry enough to march myself over to her house and demand that she work with me. She may laugh in my face, but it feels like I’m out of options.
So that’s what I decide to do. My hands tremble on the steering wheel as I drive, my resolve crumbling a little more with every mile.
I’ve just reached Steve’s house, where Abby said her sister’s staying, noting the black Porsche really is parked right outside, when the last dregs of my confidence wash away. What am I doing here?
There’s always Eddy’s offer. He’s been badgering me to just move the girls over to his house. He said he has plenty of room, and we know Roscoe and Snuggles get along. At least I’d have somewhere comfortable, close to the school, and safe to make a plan for my next steps.
My hand grabs the knob to throw the car into reverse when Helen appears outside my window.
“Amanda?” She’s peering at me, and she sounds unsure.
Could I still peel out? Deny I ever came by? She’d probably recognize my license plate. She’s too smart. I grit my teeth and roll my window down.
“Are you here for Abby?” She glances over her shoulder. “Because she and the kids live at the ranch. I’m staying here so I can take work calls without kids shrieking in the background.”
